


Ignite

by Aichi



Series: Shiralua Kink Prompts [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Established Relationship, M/M, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Shiranui and Luard help each other face the future. (Prompt #1: Devotion/Worship)





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

> So, hey, I'm trying a thing. I have a list of Kinktober prompts which I am filling... not in october and definitely not within 31 days and with content that's probably not actually terribly relevant to the prompts but whatever. This is basically an exercise to try and get me to write more, and specifically Write More Shiralua. Now watch me not do the second one for six months.
> 
> We're already off to an extremely bad start with the "staying in the spirit of the prompts" thing but there is some body worship in here somewhere, I promise. (It's mostly just angst and waffle.)

“Okay,” Luard mumbles unsteadily, wiping the sweat from his brow, “Okay. It’s almost done. Probably.”

Shiranui acknowledges him with a soft murmur and a brief nod, and Luard gets the feeling he’s not the only one who’s anxious.

“Can you try moving it?” he asks, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Shiranui’s arm flexes beneath his fingers, the lines between the metal panels lighting up with a bright red-orange glow as the dragon lifts it from his lap.

Luard feels like he could almost cry with relief. It’s been a long few hours, painstakingly imbuing the metallic creation with mana and then connecting its essence, strand-by-strand, to the stump at Shiranui’s shoulder. There had been no guarantee that it would even take, had been a very real chance that the dragon’s body would reject the foreign mana and the limb would end up nothing more than just a useless slab of metal painfully bolted to him for no reason. But now it’s reacting, glowing bright and hopeful as Shiranui’s own mana flows into Luard’s, the two intermingling and guiding the mechanism together as it reaches out, palm raised and open.

“It seems, ah,” Shiranui says, curling and uncurling its claws experimentally, “very attention-grabbing.”

“It shouldn’t stay like that,” Luard replies, vaguely aware that he’s speaking a little too quickly, his chest tightening again despite the success. “It _should_ settle down as soon as it stops reacting to the foreign mana – mine is just jump-starting it, basically, but it’ll run solely off yours once it adapts properly. If it works.” _They still can’t be sure of that_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully. “It doesn’t feel hot, does it?”

“Not at all.” Shiranui turns the palm over and back again as he speaks, and Luard can’t help but notice the uncharacteristically obvious curiosity in his eyes. “I can’t feel anything at all, actually. Is that normal?”

“Yeah, that’s–” Luard pauses, bites his lip “–that’s the last thing I need to connect. It’s– it’s going to hurt.”

Somehow, even though they’re almost in the clear, this feels like the worst part of the entire process. Luard is the one who feels like he’s going to burn up now, like he’s the one not quite in control of his own body as everything grows tight and tense under the pressure of what he has to do next. Wiping his shaky hands off on his robe can only help so much, and his palms grow clammy with cold sweat again almost immediately at the thought of Shiranui jerking horribly in pain beneath his touch.

“I know,” Shiranui says quietly, letting the arm fall back into his lap. “I’m ready.”

Trying to mentally unravel the knots in his stomach, Luard raises his own hand again and presses the tips of his fingers into the muscle of Shiranui’s shoulder. Eyes drifting closed, it takes only a second for him to find a tiny pinprick of mana flickering under the dragon’s scales; it follows his fingers almost magnetically as he traces shakily down towards the metal and locates the first of many sensory nodes. All he has to do is link the two together and then Shiranui should be able to receive sensory input from the relevant area. It’s an extremely simple, if time-consuming process.

He’s not sure if he can do it.

“Luard?” Shiranui’s voice is soft, uncertain. “Is something wrong?”

_I’m going to hurt you again_ , he wants to cry, his free hand balling into a fist as the spark of mana dances eagerly under his fingers. All he has to do is slot it in. It’s easy.

“Luard,” Shiranui repeats, firmer. The dragon’s other arm grips his, and his eyes snap open.

Their connection lost, the spark drifts back up the arm, and Luard crumples to the floor under the weight of the image that forces itself into his brain – Shiranui broken and kneeling on the ground, shivering in pain, and an all-too-familiar voice dripping with a dark, hideous exhilaration as it taunts him and promises to take his head.

“ _I can’t_ ,” Luard hisses, and at the same time he knows he can’t _not_. “I can’t let you be hurt by my hand again.”

For a moment, the Shiranui of the present is silent, while the Shiranui of the past roars in pain inside Luard’s mind.

“Luard,” Shiranui repeats, again, and his voice is calm but firm, “this isn’t the same as–”

“–I _know_!” Luard howls, because of _course_ it’s not, because he’s doing this to make _up_ for that, to help _fix_ the injuries that _he_ caused. “But I still don’t want to see you like that again, okay?!”

Bitter tears prick at the corners of his eyes and his body heaves as he takes a desperate, shuddering breath, Shiranui’s cries still rattling in his brain as he curses himself again and again – for his weakness, for the stupid outburst, for everything he’s done to hurt not just Shiranui, but dozens, hundreds of others. Nails bite furiously into his palms as he chokes back a sob, and then another, and another, and then he can’t anymore, and all his thoughts dissolve into angry, helpless tears.

Shiranui is silent for a time, but eventually, as Luard’s sobs start to quieten, a set of cool, metal claws trail through his hair.

“Listen,” the dragon says, and Luard sniffles quietly in response. “You don’t have to do that part at all if it’s an issue. I don’t want you to hurt, either, and you’ve already done so much. But if you _do_ want to, I promise I’m prepared for it. I’m confident in my own endurance, at least.”

The hand finds its way to his shoulder and squeezes gently, and Luard swallows the urge to start crying again. There’s another long, painful silence as he kneels there, emotions slowly burning down to nothing as the metallic hand strokes carefully down his upper arm again and again, occasionally squeezing just a little too hard in a way that betrays its owner’s lack of pressure perception.

When he finally steals a glance up, he finds Shiranui looking back at him, watching with a quiet, steadfast patience.

He’s always so patient. Luard definitely doesn’t deserve it.

“Everyone here is so kind to me,” he manages, eventually, and with that, the words just start tumbling out. “All the clan smiths who helped put the mechanism together, and the merchants who helped source the material, and _you_ – everyone treats me like I belong here.”

“Don’t you?” Shiranui asks.

“I can’t just pretend like I didn’t–” Luard swallows again, but thankfully, there seems to be no tears left in him. “–Like I didn’t hurt you, or them, or their families. I did those things. I can’t just say ‘ _oh but that wasn’t really me_ ’ or ‘ _I was manipulated_ ’. I can’t pretend I don’t hold any responsibility. And those aren’t exactly things I can ever make up for.”

Shiranui pats him on the head, and he lets out a quiet ‘oof’ under the unexpected weight of the metal. “Not everyone sees it like that, you know. I can only truly speak for myself, of course, but I do think I’m not the only one who recognizes the difference between the you of _then_ and the you of _now_.”

“But I’m _the same_!” Luard whines, even as Shiranui pats him again. “I can’t just pretend I’m suddenly a different person!”

“Oh? Would _that_ you have gone to all this effort to build something like this?”

“Well–” Luard stops and looks up, bewildered “–No? I mean, I was trying to...” he trails off, then adds in a very small voice, “...to kill you.”

For a moment, the hand on his head goes still, and an uncomfortable weight settles in Luard’s stomach until, finally, Shiranui strokes him again, smoothing his loose hair against his back. It’s hard not to relax at least a little into the repetitive motion of it, a powerful but comfortable pressure brushing away his tension and uncertainty.

“And yet, you built it, didn’t you? I think everyone can see and respect that difference, even if they don’t necessarily forgive you. And I think it’s okay for you to accept that.”

Shiranui smiles warmly, and Luard lets himself fall forward and collapse against the dragon’s leg with a quiet groan. He feels both comforted and, at the same time, phenomenally stupid, because what can he even _say_ when Shiranui is so frustratingly _reasonable_? It’s like losing an argument against both Shiranui _and_ himself.

The claws run through his hair once more, curved distinctly and deliberately to ensure the points remain clear of his skin – but it doesn’t stop one of them from snagging the hair itself, and Luard yelps in pain as it tears at his scalp, pulling a small knotted clump of strands free.

“O-oh,” Shiranui mumbles, equally as startled. “I’m sorry. It’s a little hard to judge wh–”

“It’s okay,” Luard says, hauling himself to his feet.

He’s made his decision.

“Hold still.” The words come out a little harder than he intends them, but Shiranui responds with a smile regardless, adjusting his tail slightly before settling down with the arm resting in his lap again.

Doing his best to ignore the anxiety stealing its way back into his chest, Luard closes his eyes and softly brushes his fingertips over Shiranui’s awaiting scales. The same spark as earlier is still there, floating just below the surface, and it clings to his fingers again the moment he touches it. He draws it quickly but carefully through the metal, finding the correct point and dropping it into place before he has a chance to think about it too much.

Even though he can’t see it, Luard can sense the dragon’s entire body tense up.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes squeezed tight.

“I’m fine,” Shiranui says, although his voice is obviously edged with discomfort. “It’s not too bad, really. Just... surprising.”

“Mmm.” Luard grunts in acceptance, and lets his fingers find another, slightly larger spark of mana. _Just focus on the task_ , he reminds himself. _Nothing else._ _The sooner you get it connected, the sooner it’ll be over._

As efficient as Luard is, because his months of arduous study on magical prosthetics haven’t been for nothing, the process still takes some time, and Shiranui’s reactions become more and more obvious with each sector he hooks up. The shoulder muscles under his still-sweaty hands clench and tighten in fresh anticipation every time he moves over them, and he can _sense_ the pained shiver running through the dragon’s whole body as he guides the connections into place. Occasionally, Shiranui lets out a stressed, quiet huff, and Luard swears he can hear the dragon’s teeth grinding.

He wills himself not to rush too much, because undoing any mistakes is going to be even more painful.

It’s hard, though, with the way his own heart shudders with every move Shiranui makes, the way the light of the mana reaction flares through his eyelids with each successful link as he forces his cold, stiff hands to keep working. The image, the one he’s trying not to think about, is still _there_ , lurking dark and heavy in the back of his brain and nudging persistently at him so that he can’t fully forget its presence, and it takes everything he has to focus on his work instead.

_Connect this one here,_ he tells himself, firmly, narrating as he goes so that nothing else can worm its way into his thoughts. _That’s good, now move back up, find another node strong enough to accommodate the wrist joints – there’s one, good, now coax it down carefully, slowly, it’s a bad idea to move something that large so fast, now once that’s done we only need a few more small nodes here and then–_

And then, miraculously, it’s finished.

It takes Luard a second to realize it. His fingers slide back up the arm, looking for the next spot to work with, faltering slowly when he realizes _there is none_. Every single one of the lines of mana beneath the metal is arranged as it should be, precise and perfect, all splayed out in his mind like a map as he runs his hands back and forth again to be sure, to check that it’s actually real. It is.

Shakily, he opens his eyes.

“Is everything alright?” Shiranui asks, sounding more than a little strained.

_Yes_ , Luard tries to say, but the only thing that comes out is a harsh croak. He nods instead, already starting to realize just how tired he is as relief and exhaustion flood his body in equal measure.

“Are you done? Should I try and move it?”

Dumbly, Luard nods again. Anything else is beyond him at this point.

Shiranui lifts the arm – _his_ arm, it really is _his_ now, Luard thinks – and examines it, stretching forward as far as he can and grasping curiously at the air with his claws. Pulling it back close to his chest, he runs the claws of his other hand over it, tapping gently at the metal casing that still flickers with light – and as exhausted as Luard is, he still feels his own heart leap at the spark of delight in Shiranui’s eyes.

“It’s–” For once, Shiranui seems to be the one at a loss for words. “...Oh, I can feel _everything_.”

He looks up at Luard, then back down at his hand, then back again, and before Luard can even think of trying to speak, both of Shiranui’s arms are around him, pulling him into the dragon’s lap.

Luard manages a quiet noise of surprise, but his body is too worn out to put up any real resistance, and he flops limply against Shiranui’s broad, firm chest. Not that he’s interested in complaining, because the way those arms squeeze around him, warm and protective, makes him want to just melt away into Shiranui’s lap and never move again. It suddenly feels stupid that he ever could have considered not going through with all this, but he’s too tired to fight himself anymore.

“Thank you,” Shiranui murmurs, his snout nuzzling happily against Luard’s head. “Honestly. With all my heart.”

The words wrap around Luard like armour, safe and strong, and he smiles weakly against the dragon’s chest, wanting desperately to say something in return but still unable to form words of his own. Instead, he does the best he can, and summons all his strength to lean over and plant a bold but gentle kiss against the metal of Shiranui’s upper arm.

As he makes contact, the light between the panels ripples gently and sparks tingle on his lips. He looks up for a second, startled, but Shiranui seems unconcerned, and simply leans down to nuzzle him again.

Luard decides to take it as a sign. He kisses harder this time, metal cool and smooth against his mouth, letting himself lean into it and shiver slightly as the light pulses again in response. _Likely just a harmless residual reaction_ , his brain supplies helpfully, so he kisses again, and again, watching through tired, half-lidded eyes as flickering light dances over the dark, silvery metal. It’s bizarrely beautiful, if he’s being honest.

“Enjoying yourself?” Shiranui smirks.

Normally, Luard would been embarrassed by the tease – and probably still is, honestly, but it’s buried under so many layers of relief and exhaustion and affection that all he can offer in response is a noncommittal whine, shuffling obediently into a more comfortable position after Shiranui offers a nudge of encouragement with his flesh-and-blood hand.

Gently, the tip of the dragon’s snout touches Luard’s lips, the closest thing he can manage to a kiss, and Luard responds by dipping his head and placing another kiss of his own against the metal, this time a little further down, and then again and again, slowly trailing his way down the plate covering the upper arm. When he reaches the inner elbow, he leaves another, firmer kiss there too, and part of him quietly wishes he could take credit for the impressive design. While it isn’t particularly ornate to look at, the external casing is both sleek and functional, cleverly minimizing the chance of anything becoming caught in the joints while also hiding as much of the internal mechanism as possible – which itself is impressively and precisely tuned to respond to even the slightest mana input, and was also the only part he’d really done on his own. The actual concept was something he’d dug up from Morfessa’s medical textbooks and which the clan’s smiths had skilfully adapted to fit Shiranui’s body, and the end result feels far more like their accomplishment than Luard’s.

It doesn’t matter in the end, of course, as long as it works, as long as Shiranui is happy – but there’s something in Luard that desperately wants to be a part of that happiness, beyond simply paying reparations for his past. It feels stupid, and selfish, and ridiculously presumptuous give everything he’s done, and yet the feeling is always there, bubbling back to the surface again as he leans down and nuzzles his cheek into the crook of Shiranui’s new arm.

It feels like home, and he’s not really sure what that means, but at the moment, it feels _right_.

Shiranui shifts slightly, rearranging his other arm to more easily support Luard’s body, and for some reason, the move fills Luard with confidence. Light flares up again as he licks a long, leisurely stripe down the inside of Shiranui’s forearm, from the elbow to the wrist, and a faint metallic tinge lingers on his tongue as he pulls back, does it again, over and over until his entire mouth is alive with crackling mana residue. When he swallows, the feeling washes through his entire body, overexcited sparks racing down his own arms and fizzling out at the end of his fingers.

He feels closer than ever to Shiranui, somehow, and can’t resist kissing over the area again, lapping eagerly at the metal as he goes, watching out of the corner of his eye as Shiranui’s claws curl in appreciation and warm orange light glints off their curves. The metal is already starting to warm slightly, adjusting to the dragon’s body temperature as more and more of his mana flows into it, and despite the material being darker and harder than his scales, it’s easy to already think of it as a part of him.

Eventually, Luard’s attention reaches the hand, light still shimmering brightly from the cracks of the finger joints, and he leaves one final, deep kiss in the open palm, pressing into it with all of his heart and praying that Shiranui can feel it, holding it as long as he can until he finally has to pull back for air with a soft gasp.

Not wanting to break contact so soon, he covers the palm with his own much smaller one, and Shiranui’s fingers wrap around his with a gentle squeeze. For the first time in a while, he looks back up at the dragon’s face.

“I take it you approve of the finished product, then?” Shiranui asks, with a broad, slightly toothy smile that tugs at Luard’s heartstrings. Suddenly, he’s awkwardly aware of how hot his face feels.

“My reaction isn’t the one that matters,” he mumbles dismissively, and Shiranui laughs.

“Well, I assure you, I am more than satisfied. Really.”

The dragon’s eyes are warm and honest, and for once in his life Luard truly feels like he’s done the right thing, even if it’s not only his accomplishment. Even if nothing will ever undo the past, right now he feels like maybe he _can_ have a better future, after all. And not just him, either.

“...I’m glad,” he says, quietly.

At that, Shiranui lifts his hand, and Luard’s with it, bringing it to his lips to leave a brief, careful lick of his own.

“And I’m glad to hear it. The clan is happy to have you, Luard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please Come And Talk To Me, Twitter User @Cosmowreath, About Units And Kinks
> 
> Please I Beg Of You


End file.
